


i'll swap you time, for a chance

by bottledlogic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Party, F/M, Team Bonding, betting pools, flying robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2738279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledlogic/pseuds/bottledlogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas at the Tower.</p><p>(Or, bets are made, Tony and Bruce build flying robots, Thor gets excited about Asgardian cooking, and Maria just wants Clint to stop singing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> umm, let's see how this goes. happy holidays, everyone.

She hates parties.

Well, more accurately, Christmas parties hosted by multimillion dollar companies with politicians and journalists and socialites from every circle on the East Coast.

Exhibit A--

“… So, Miss Hill, what are you hoping to achieve in the next year at Stark Industries? I mean, given how S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone, will we be expecting you to join forces with Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers?”

She impassively stares back at the reporter in front of her. “No comment. And it’s ‘Lieutenant’, _Miss_ Everhart.”

With that, she strides away, itching to wipe the sickly smile off the woman’s face, only to silently groan into her champagne flute at the two figures heading in her direction.

“Hill! Having fun?”

(She would also like to wipe the smirk off Tony Stark’s face.)

“Journalists are bloody vultures,” she says. “These are the days where I miss working for a non-descript government agency.”

“Seriously? You’re telling me that an agency that had questionable ethics and dealt with aliens had no run-ins _at all_ with the press? Who handled them? Because somehow, Fury seems like the guy with the sensitivity of a blunt axe.”

She ignores him and turns to the man standing next to him. “Captain.”

“Maria,” he greets with a smile. “You look nice.”

Beside him, Tony snorts. “And _you_ really need to work on your lines, Cap. But then, I guess you’re Captain fucking America, so anything works, right?”

“Stark,” she explains patiently to him. “If you had half the tact and social etiquette of Captain fucking America, he wouldn’t need to be here, and Pepper would trust you with these hounds.”

She takes a larger sip of her drink, and Tony only grins harder. “You really hate it here, don’t you?”

She throws him a dirty look and sighs. “What do you think? Christmas _fundraising_ parties are the worst. It’s only because it’s _not_ a complete waste of time that I’m standing here watching a hundred and fifty or so socialites get wasted.”

“I’m sure they’re not all bad. Christmas parties can be fun.”

“Steve, you have no idea. Maria, lovely to see you, and thanks for coming,” Pepper says almost apologetically, walking up from behind them.

“Tell you what, Hill. We’ll have a party, just, you know, the Avengers and co., and I’ll prove once and for all that Christmas parties are fun. Pepper, Rogers?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Sounds fine, just make sure no one gets drunk and calls the paparazzi. We can only handle so much negative attention in a year.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Steve says.

“Of course you do, team morale and all that jazz. So, Hill?”

She stares at him over the rim of the glass. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But I’m not staying the next day to fix any windows that you’ve sent robots flying through or whatever.”

“There will be no property damage incurred. We’re not a frat house; we’re a grown team of assassins, a demigod, and a few scientifically modified people who happen to live in the same building.”

“Stark, by every definition, you live in a frat house. But fine, a hundred dollars says there’ll be some sort of architectural damage.”

Tony’s eyes gleam. “Are we making bets, Lieutenant?”

“Yes.” She looks over at Pepper and Steve to see both of them looking intrigued and slightly wary. “If I’m going to join in, I’m at least going to make money out of it.”

“Smart woman. Anything else you wanna bet on?”

She answers without hesitation. “Barton will be the first to pass out completely drunk.”

Tony looks at her with newfound respect. “Betting on your own agents, I’m impressed. But really? I mean, he drinks with Romanoff. My money’s on Jane Foster. Scientist working all day in a lab with no windows – she’ll be the first to let loose.”

“Fine,” she shrugs, before turning to Pepper and the captain. “You two are making sure that _he_ doesn’t cheat, yeah?”

Pepper smiles. “I’ll let JARVIS know as well.”

“Okay, my turn,” Stark interrupts. “Nick Fury will turn up.”

(And Steve most definitely _doesn’t_ look at Maria.)

“He’s dead, Tony,” she says.

“Come on, Hill. He’s _the_ spy, and we’re his pet project. I watch movies, you know,” he says with a smug grin. “Do you want to raise it to five hundred?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Are you kidding? I don’t get paid enough to make extravagant bets with the resident genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. Keep it at a hundred.”

Pepper clears her throat. “Hate to break this up, but Tony, Senator Gardner’s coming this way, and you’re going to talk to him _now_. God knows he’s bugged me long enough about some government advisory board. We’ll see you two later,” she adds to Maria and Steve.

“It’s on, Hill!” Tony tosses over his shoulder, swaggering to meet the sour-looking senator.

She sighs again (god, it’s been a long night) and Steve holds out his hand. An old jazz number croons over the speakers and she reluctantly allows him to lead her onto the dance floor – for the sake of appearances, of course – but not before she manages to shoot him a half-hearted glare. He smiles in triumph, and she has to admit that she’s glad there’s another person in this room who has their sanity still intact.

They’re halfway through the third song and she’s swaying slowly to the music when he remarks, “I didn’t think you’d be in on this whole betting thing.”

“Who do you think ran the pools at S.H.I.E.L.D.?” She smirks as she looks up at him.

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you guys had time for that stuff. I don’t know, Lee? Tucker? Fury?”

“It’s like any other office. Of course there were betting pools. And no, it was me and Nat, actually,” she says with a feral smile growing. “So, I know what I’m doing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Extorting money from Tony Stark,” she quips. “Look, whatever Tony thinks, I’m not opposed to fun and parties and such. Just large functions with drunk journalists and politicians. And I have absolutely nothing against team morale. I still don’t wholly agree with the concept of the Avengers, but I know it’s probably our best strategy in the current situation.”

He scrutinises her for a moment. “You know you have nothing to prove, right? Not to me, not to Tony, not to the rest of us.”

She freezes, glances up sharply, steel eyes hardening. “I’m not after anyone’s approval, and I don’t care if I’m not your _fun_ babysitter. You and Stark and the rest of your ragtag team of assassins, a demigod, and a few scientifically modified people can go fly off and save the world et cetera, and – let’s make this clear – I don’t need your _approval_ to do _my_ goddamn job, so you can keep doing yours.”

“That’s--that’s not what I meant, Maria.”

“Isn’t it?” She asks softly. “I do my job, and that’s all you or Stark or anyone else can ask of me, really. Anything else, anything outside of that, that’s just additional.”

She disentangles her hand from his, lets the music glide over them, and gives him a small nod. “I think I’m done for the night. I’ll see you around, Captain.”

He watches as she leaves, navy dress sweeping an elegant trail behind her. He starts when he notices Pepper standing next to him, and he ruefully shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I don’t understand,” he says to her. “You’re okay with this between Tony and Maria? It’s not going to, I dunno, blow up out of proportion?”

“There are not a lot of people who Tony actually respects. Maria’s one of them, and he does have a… different way of showing it. But I’m hoping that at the end of this, they’ll at least be able to be in the same room for more than twenty minutes without wanting to murder the other. Probably better for the team, anyway.”

Steve starts to laugh. “I’m beginning to see why you’re the CEO now.”

“Only beginning? Guess I’ll have to try harder, then.”

“No, god, that’s not--”

She laughs lightly at the mortified expression on his face. “I’m only joking. And trust me, it’ll work out. Now, you’ve been here long enough, so feel free to leave if you don’t want to shake another senator’s hand,” she says wryly.

“How did you guess?” He gives her a sheepish grin.

“Just thought you would have had enough of that back with the USO,” she says. “Have a good night, Steve. See if you can talk to Maria.”

“I don’t-- _how_ did you know…?”

“I saw you two earlier. Talk to her – it doesn’t have to be tonight – but she doesn’t hate you guys, you know.”

“I know.”

“Good. Now, I have to get back before Tony puts his foot in anything. See you soon,” she says as she gently nudges him towards the door.

“Bye, Pepper.”

He walks out and is greeted by the cool rush of December, lights twinkling and a faint dusting of snow lining the path. He makes his way down the street, slowly meanders; a rare moment when nothing is urgent.

He stops next to a bench, looking at her seated peacefully. “What are you doing here? It’s cold outside,” he says without thinking.

“Says the man who woke up from being stuck in an ice cube for seventy years,” she shoots back. “I shouldn’t say it, but Tony’s right. Your pick-up lines need work.”

He gives her a self-deprecating shrug and a wistful look. “That was Bucky’s thing.”

She looks at him carefully for a few beats. “Okay.”

“What? That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“I told you earlier,” she says irritably. “There’s nothing else for me to--”

“--No, that’s not what I meant--I just--”

“Just spit it out, Rogers,” she says, tired. “I’ve got a shitload of reports I’m actively avoiding right now.”

“Look, I’m sorry about before. What I meant was--I don’t _need_ you to do, or be, anything more. You already do a lot for us. But, you know…” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, before saying rather awkwardly, “You’re a friend.”

“A friend.”

“Yeah. Can never have too many friends.” At her raised eyebrows, he winces. “Sorry, not that I’m trying to use you or anything, I meant--”

“I know,” she says with a hint of amusement. “I appreciate the gesture, but--”

“Maria, it’s not a _gesture_. You’re a part of the team now, okay? S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone, and you’ve been helping us find Bucky…” He trails off to stare at her.

And of course, she gives as good as she gets and stares back.

“Christmas,” he says suddenly.

“Yes, I know. It’s why we’re here,” she says, confused.

“I mean, you spend most of your time in the Tower now,” he continues, oblivious to her confusion. “And you already know Nat and Clint. Join us for breakfast and dinner and stuff.”

“Seriously? I see enough of you guys already.”

“We’re not that bad. Look, you said so yourself – you have to work with us. If you can’t beat us, join us, right?” At her sceptical glance, he adds, “Okay, how about from now up to Christmas and the party?”

She stares at him for a while (minutes and minutes, he feels), before exhaling. “Yeah, okay.”

(She tries really really hard not to smile at his grin. She has a feeling she doesn’t quite succeed.)

“I’m going back, now. God knows I’m going to need sleep for the next week,” she says, standing.

“Of course,” he nods. “It’s going to be fine, Maria.”

“We’ll see. Good night, Captain,” she gives the barest of smiles as she walks away.

He grins and whispers to her retreating back, “Yeah, it really is.”


	2. two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nat and maria are snarky best friends, yep.

Natasha’s stirring her coffee absent-mindedly and filling in a jumbo crossword when she notices a metal arm reaching across for her mug.

She continues stirring, but flicks her eyes up, coming face-to-face with a baby-sized robot elf complete with Santa hat. It glides forward on its legs before grabbing her spoon, extending its sizeable wings (hidden away behind its arms, _what the hell?_ ) and leaping from the counter into the air.

“Sorry about that,” Bruce says from behind her, reaching up to halt the flying elf in its flight. He turns it over, enters a code, and the elf goes still. “We’re still trying them out. But they seem to hold things pretty well, now.”

“They?”

“Yeah, Tony and I made them last night. This one’s Michael, the other one’s Elvis. Elvis is red and gold, of course.”

“I’m sure,” she says wryly. “What are you doing with them?”

Bruce smiles. “Tony wants elves to deliver his presents and everyone else’s. So because we’re not asking Thor to give us Asgardian elves, we’re making do with these two.”

“And knowing Tony, it’s going to annoy the hell out of Pepper and Maria, right?”

“Yeah, that may have factored into the designs,” he says sheepishly. “But, they could probably deliver coffee too.”

“That’ll help when they’re deciding how to murder them.”

Bruce shrugs, “We’re hoping they’ll last ‘til Christmas.”

“What are we hoping will last until Christmas?” Maria walks in and makes a beeline for the coffee.

He holds up the elf. “Michael. And Elvis.”

She gives it a cursory glance. “You named a pair of flying robots?”

“Tony was thinking of installing a personality for both of them, actually. I told him it was probably a bit too much.”

“Thank god,” Maria snarks. “We’ve already got a flying robot with a personality in the form of Tony Stark.”

As if to prove a point, Michael jumps out of Bruce’s grasp without warning, tumbles to the counter, and proceeds to do ten combat rolls in quick succession.

(To be fair, Natasha kind of thinks the flying robot elves are adorable. She’ll take that to her grave, though.)

“Okay, I’m going to go… fix this,” he says, grabbing the elf and making a hasty exit.

Maria mutters into her mug, “What the fuck is going on?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Natasha smirks. “Since when are you here before eight?”

“I’m _usually_ here before eight. I have an apartment upstairs and I work in Stark’s building.”

“No, I meant _here_ , as in this particular kitchen.”

“It has the good coffee,” she replies sarcastically.

At Nat’s disbelieving look, she sighs, “Team morale at Christmas, apparently.”

“Ah.”

She frowns, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Steve put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“He ambushed me at SI’s Christmas fundraiser,” Maria admits while glaring at her friend.

“And you couldn’t say no?”

“Of course I could have.”

“But…?”

“None of your goddamn business, Romanoff.”

“Okay,” Natasha readily shrugs, turning back to her crossword and tapping her pen thoughtfully against her own mug.

Maria starts scrolling through her tablet (one of a handful of things she genuinely enjoys courtesy of Stark Industries – the others being: her view from her apartment floor, the seemingly endless supply of excellent coffee from the Heads of Departments lounge, the clean gym on the twenty-second floor that no one seems to use, pens that don’t run out of ink after a week, and her larger private sector salary), fingers dancing across the screen, pulling information from all corners of the internet, public or otherwise. She feels her mind racing, assembling pictures and strategies, a rush that she’ll admit not even the best coffee on the dreariest of mornings provides. It’s a testament to the intensity of her internet perusal that her breakfast companion only interrupts after a solid twenty minutes of silence.

“Have you ever--”

“God, Nat, just let it go. Please.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say.” And if the Black Widow could do petulant, this would definitely be it.

“Give me some credit,” Maria says, exasperated. “If you’re going to keep guessing or whatever, I’m going to go.”

“You’re going to want to leave, then,” Natasha grins.

Maria shoots her another icy glare before grabbing her mug and tablet and striding from the room, leaving Natasha to finish her crossword with an idea half-formed in her mind.

 

......

 

“Dude, that’s really creepy,” a hoarse voice whispers.

Steve finishes off the sketch of a face before craning his head up.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Watching,” Barton shrugs from his vantage point – a storage niche conveniently carved into the corner of the wall, with the books that resided there thirty minutes ago haphazardly tossed aside. “Observing. You know, the usual.”

“And that’s not creepy at all,” Steve counters.

“It’s what I do,” he responds flatly. “You, on the other hand, are drawing people without telling them. It’s like you’re stalking them with a camera, but slower.”

“It’s what I do,” Steve parrots the words back. “And did, back in the day. Like a hobby.”

He turns his attention back to the sketch in front of him, subtly glancing up at the two figures seated at the kitchen counter, engaging in some sort of heated discussion. Probably about Asgardian Christmas decorations or thermonuclear space projections (or something close enough – Steve’s certain he will never understand), knowing Thor and Jane. To his relief, Clint doesn’t say anything until he signs the corner.

“What are you going to do with them?” Clint asks, nodding towards the drawings.

“Christmas presents,” he says quietly. “Thought I could get frames or something.”

“Huh,” Barton says, pausing. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“… Thanks?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s still kinda creepy. But, you know, it’s probably only something Captain America could get away with.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Yeah. But remember, me and Nat see _everything_ ,” Barton says mock gravely. “We’ll know when you’re deciding to stalk us.”

“Right, point taken.”

(And later that night, when Tony and Clint are animatedly discussing new arrow technology and the merits of night-vision goggles, Steve catches Nat’s eye and grins.)

 

......

 

She’s sitting alone, facing the intricate New York skyline, when she hears a faint set of footsteps approach. She closes her eyes, counts them, before looking up and warily regarding the intruder.

“Stark and Barton still talking weapons?”

“Moved onto night-vision goggles, actually.”

Maria snorts, “Barton’s never going to use them.”

“I know,” Nat agrees. “But Tony has to lose every now and then. Also, it’s providing inspiration for Steve.” She indicates her head toward the lone figure sitting at the counter, absently chewing on the end of the pencil.

“Of course.”

Natasha looks at Steve, then over at her friend. “Seriously, what are you doing here? You don’t socialise.”

“Not in my job description, especially _not_ with a ragtag team of Fury’s superheroes.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t--”

“--And you’re not the first person to think that--”

“--Also doesn’t mean you have to cave. You _don’t_ cave. So, why?”

“It’s Christmas,” Maria says sardonically. “If you can’t beat them, join them.”

“Or, you couldn’t say no to Captain America,” Nat remarks slyly.

She ignores the comment and stares at the drink in her hand. It’s minutes before she speaks again, quieter and bitter and tired. “It’s easier to have a sane person on the same side. I don’t have an international counter-intelligence agency anymore.”

(And Natasha gets it, understands in a way that her much younger self would scoff at derisively. Understands in a way that she wouldn’t have prior to S.H.I.E.L.D. and everything after and in between.)

“Yeah, he made it much easier to blow up the Triskelion,” Nat quips.

Maria shoots her a crooked smile, acknowledging her attempt to lighten the tension. “That said, he does have a tendency for sacrificial heroics.”

Nat shrugs and raises her glass in a mock salute, “To Captain America.”

Maria rolls her eyes and stands. “’Night, Nat.”

“See you in the morning,” she calls after her. She watches as Maria makes her way over to the kitchen, stops and laughs lightly with the captain at the sketch in front of them. Watches as he squeezes the lieutenant’s hand before she leaves through the glass doors, as he stares for a minute before returning to the page in front of him.

(And it’s not until Barton’s perfectly rebutted all of Tony’s arguments and joined her on the couch that her idea morphs into a plan.)

 


	3. three.

“And that,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “is a gingerbread house, my friends.”

Thor beams to a silent audience of Steve (who’s looking mildly impressed), Sam (who’s looking wary but hungry), Maria (who’s looking slightly bored), and Bruce (who can’t seem to stop blinking).

“You cook?” Bruce manages to get his blinking under control. “You bake?”

“Of course. It is a skill learnt at a very young age.”

“That, and Dr. Foster probably doesn’t have time,” Maria cuts in, frowning as she checks her phone.

“Okay, it could just be me,” Sam says, confusion etching his face, “but how is this different from a normal gingerbread house, aside from the fact that a god made it?”

“You should have come earlier; he brought his own ingredients and he made it from scratch in fifteen minutes,” Steve says. “Also, you know… it’s more of a palace than a house.”

“Yeah, how _did_ you do it in fifteen minutes?” Bruce asks curiously, leaning forward to inspect the gingerbread. “It has to bake and cool completely, so the ingredients must have more catalytic elements, or completely different thermodynamic properties.”

“I will not reveal the secrets of my people,” Thor laughs. “But please, break it and try some.”

“It’s even architecturally sound,” Steve mutters.

“Gentlemen, just break the damn thing, eat it, and stop analysing it,” Maria says, amused and looking up from her phone.

“Are you not interested, Lieutenant?” Thor asks, taking mock offense.

“Thor, it’s a fine piece of art, but it’s also a _gingerbread house_ , and I can hear Wilson’s stomach from here.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got excited when Steve told me to come to lunch at Tony Stark’s tower,” Sam says indignantly. “Cap, can you break the house, now?”

(And at the prospect of dismantling said house, Maria has to hide her smile at the forlorn look on Steve’s face and the utter glee on Banner’s.)

“Maria, do you want to do it? Seeing as you’re the least attached to it?” She looks up at Steve, surprised at the intensity in his eyes.

Wordlessly, she peels back a piece of the roof, leaving a neat hole in its place. She breaks the rectangle into pieces and distributes it, rolling her eyes when Wilson reaches for the one with the most jellybeans.

“Damn, what’s in these? I can literally feel the sugar in my blood,” Sam says, reaching for more with the enthusiasm of a five year old on a sugar high.

“Special candy from Asgard,” Thor says proudly. “Most likely too strong for human mass consumption.”

“No kidding,” Steve remarks. “Thor, are these _stairs_ inside the house?”

 “Yes, of course. We pride ourselves on our attention to detail, especially with our food preparations.”

Maria watches as Steve continues to peer inside and explore the house, fingers probing and eyes raking over every detail; as Bruce mouths _fifteen minutes_ over and over, scribbling down possible theories and chemical reactions; as Sam attacks his gingerbread with the gusto of a kid deprived of sugar for a year; as Thor stands tall and fields any cooking related questions from Steve.

“Maria?”

She jerks out of her reverie at the quiet insistence in his voice. “Yeah?”

“Have you had any?” He asks, offering her a piece.

“Yeah, I have, thanks.” Making up her mind, she turns to the rest of them and says, “Boys, it’s been a pleasure; Thor, thanks for the demonstration.”

“You should stay,” Steve blurts.

She shakes her head minutely, tries to avoid his gaze, and holds up her phone. “Places to be, I’m afraid. I’ll see you all later.”

She steps gracefully off her stool and makes her way towards the door, unaware of neither Bruce’s frown nor Thor’s confusion.

Sam watches his friend’s face fall, and in a valiant effort to cheer him up, waves the plate of freshly dismantled biscuits in front of his nose.

“Gingerbread?”

 

......

 

“I want in,” Natasha says without preamble.

Pepper looks up from her computer, trying to hide her surprise at the sudden entrance. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t act stupid, it’s not working. I want to add a bet to the pool you’re overseeing between Hill and Stark. Except we’re leaving Hill out of it.”

“JARVIS, could you lock the door please?” She sighs resignedly, “So how did you figure it out? And am I going to have a riot on my hands?”

“No, you’re clear,” Natasha says. “Whenever Maria’s out, Tony’s been trying to install another layer of glass to the windows on the common floor – half the time, that’s her first bet since a bunch of Level 3s got hold of a stash of vodka from a raid in Russia two years ago. She usually wins those.”

“So…?”

“So I don’t care about those. I want to add my own.” At Pepper’s gesture, she continues, “Steve will _finally_ kiss Maria at the party – mistletoe-induced because he is such a traditionalist.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Pepper frowns, but she can’t quite keep the smile off her face. “I don’t think she’d appreciate it if we did this behind her back.”

“She already knows I’m up to something. And yes, it’s a very good idea. A friend helping a friend.”

And before Pepper can respond, JARVIS’ voice interrupts, “Ms. Potts, I’m sorry, but Mr Stark has overridden the door.”

“Ah, Pep, did you miss me? Rhodey says hi, but he’s probably still sleeping off the hell of the after-after-party this morning,” Tony grins and struts into the room. “I love the smell of L.A. in the morning.”

“Stark.”

“Romanoff,” he greets, turning to the other woman in the room. “Nice of you to show your ninja face around here.”

“Actually, there’s something we want to talk to you about,” Nat says slyly. “I’m modifying the betting pool slightly.”

“You know about it? Wait, of course you do. Okay, I’m listening.”

“A hundred says Steve will kiss Maria under mistletoe at your party.”

“I’m in,” Tony says immediately. “Except, of course he won’t, because he’s chicken and Hill is an iron maiden bitch.”

“Cruel, but not an unreasonable assessment. And I’d love to see what you’d look like if you said that to her face.”

Pepper winces, before jumping in unexpectedly, “I’m going to go a hundred that Maria kisses Steve.”

(Pepper swears she could have heard a pin drop. One of those tiny tiny nano-pins that’s being developed on the fifteenth floor.)

“Not bad,” Tony drawls. “Romanoff?”

“That works,” she shrugs. “JARVIS will check, right?”

“I knew there was a reason for my AI,” Tony mutters. “Speaking of, how’s Elvis and Michael?”

“Oh, I was using Elvis as a paperweight earlier today,” Pepper says with a touch of malice. “It’s what I do with things without productive value.”

“See, Pepper, that’s a _lie_. He’s a flying elf; there’s no way you could have kept him there,” Tony counters smugly.

“Okay, fine,” Pepper rolls her eyes. “I may have just locked them away somewhere for the afternoon. You should be glad I was at the SI building this morning.”

“Hang on, where’s Hill? Did she do anything to Michael?” Tony asks with a hint of fear.

“She flew to D.C. after lunch,” Natasha says. “And didn’t you design them to annoy her?”

“Yup, and whatever, as long as they’re still alive,” he waves a hand dismissively. “So, Romanoff. Why the interest in Cap and Hill?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I like winning. I like Maria. I like Steve. And they’re idiots when it comes to the other. Really not that complicated, Stark.”

“There’s more you’re not telling us,” he says, eyes narrowed.

“Of course. And I’m not going to.”

“Tut tut, you can’t expect us to play fairly if you don’t.”

“Stark, you have eyes and a brain. Use them,” she smirks, walking towards the door. “Nice playing with you two.”

“Huh. Okay, is there something I don’t know about here?” Tony asks, turning to Pepper.

“Yeah,” she says, with a thoughtful look. “Yeah, there is.”

 

......

 

“Dr. Banner.”

Bruce looks up from the vat of bubbling yellow and orange liquid, glasses slightly askew, to see her in front of him, urgently tapping away at her tablet.

“Agent Hill, is there anything I can help you with?”

“I’m not an agent anymore,” she says with the smallest of smiles. “And yes, I need to you to go with Romanoff and Barton to Mexico three-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“You mean, in five hours?”

“Yes,” she says. “There’s going to be a situation and I need your expertise.”

“You mean, the Other Guy,” he says bitterly. “You can say it, _Lieutenant_.”

“Not what I said and not what I meant,” she says, staring him straight in the eye. “It involves alien tech, and I need someone who knows the science and has a modicum of cultural sensitivity.”

He relaxes a fraction, the doubt still playing on his face. “And if the Other Guy does show up?”

“Then I trust you to know what to do,” she says, still unblinking. “It shouldn’t be hard; Natasha and Clint will be there as well.”

“Your faith is astounding,” he says dryly. “Though, I suppose you’ll use anyone now that your agency’s gone?”

“Dr. Banner--”

“--No, I get it. I’m useful, except now it’s also _okay_ for me to be angry and--”

“-- _Dr. Banner_. This is not the same as two years ago.  You live in this tower, which Tony happens to call _Avengers_ Tower. No one gives a damn about the Hulk, not when we’ve had alien invasions and the like, and when there are more shady and dubious things happening with equally serious consequences,” she says impatiently. “You’re a part of this team, and this is _not_ the only operation I’m dealing with right now, so I need you to just get on the jet in five hours and go to Mexico. Are we clear?”

Her question resonates around the pristine lab, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.

“Yes,” he says finally. “Yes, we are.”

“Good,” she says, handing him a manila folder and turning to leave. “Everything you need to know is in here. I’ll see you on the helipad at 0300.”

“Maria,” he calls out after her.

She pauses and looks back, tipping her head expectantly, waiting.

“Same goes for you; you’re a part of this team, too. Not the deputy director of an intelligence agency. You don’t get to send us to Mexico or wherever, and not let us in,” he says lightly. “Or, if not all of us, at least some.”

She nods once in acknowledgement and manages to give him a tight smile, before walking out and letting the glass doors shut quietly behind her.


	4. four.

It’s half past three in the morning, and Steve finds himself beating the daylights out of a punching bag.  His fists connect solidly with the worn material, over and over and over, not stopping never stopping, and it’s not until his ears pick up the hum of one of the quinjets that he suddenly pauses and jogs up the flights of stairs to the helipad.

The tape is still wound around his fingers and his eyes are glassy as he takes in the scene in front of him. He registers half his team checking weapons and climbing into the back, the calm authority of the lieutenant in front of him, the smell of fuel wafting in front of him, Nat’s flying red hair against the black catsuit, the dizzying lights from surrounding buildings, a firm hand insistently shaking his shoulder...

“Steve. Captain.”

He blinks once and looks down to see Hill simultaneously eyeing him (with a hint of concern) and the quinjet.

“What’s happening? Why are they--Where…?”

She holds up a finger and speaks into the radio. “Widow, you’re clear for takeoff.”

“Where are they going?” He asks, over the buzz of the engines, both watching as the jet joins the scattering pricks of lights in the distance.

She stares at him, silently assessing, before answering, “Mexico. Black market trade of a shipment of alien tech, probably from Budapest in the nineties. It’s old, but still a few years ahead of now. We think a HYDRA splinter cell raided the old S.H.I.E.L.D. facility and are trying to sell, and we got a last minute tip-off.”

“I should be--”

“--No. Romanoff, Barton, and Banner are going.”

“But HYDRA…”

“Natasha and Barton are more than capable, and Banner knows what he’s doing.” She softens her stance. “You don’t need to be on every mission involving HYDRA, Steve.”

His head snaps up. “Sure, but we’re a _team_. The rest of us still need to know.”

“No, you don’t. That’s not how operations work,” she says flatly. “What I just told you isn’t hugely confidential, but I didn’t _need_ the whole building woken up for this. Thor doesn’t know. Stark doesn’t know. You wouldn’t know if you were still asleep. And anyway, this mission was a last minute arrangement with minimal planning.”

“Still keeping secrets? This isn’t S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore, Lieutenant.”

“Exactly. Stark Industries is a private company. As much as me being Head of Special Taskforces is public knowledge, the less that’s known about the details, the better. And that includes _your_ team.” She releases a tired sigh, “Look, let’s go inside and talk. I’ll make coffee.”

He nods mutely and follows her into the tower, finally unrolling the tape from his hands. It’s not until she has to key her code into the door that he realises they’ve reached her floor, and not the common area.

“You’ve decorated. It’s nice,” he says, swivelling his head and absorbing all the details.

“Sure, if you like minimalism,” she says dryly. “People generally go for the opposite sentiment.”

He notes the clean lines in the room, a few pictures of the Amazon framed and artfully mounted onto the wall next to the television, the two beanbags (one deep blue and one sky blue) tucked into the far corner beside the couch, and the large clock hanging over the sturdy bookshelf.

“Is this all you have?” He asks without thinking.

“Yeah, that’s more like it,” she smirks. “Some of my stuff’s still in my own apartment. Can’t let Tony take everything, can I?”

He hums non-committedly and accepts the mug she pushes into his hands.

“Sit,” she orders, gesturing to the bar stool. “It’s four-thirty in the morning, what the hell are you doing?”

His shoulders slump and he rubs his eyes tiredly. “Couldn’t sleep. Kept seeing Bucky. On the bridge, on the helicarrier. Needed – _wanted_ – to hit something.”

She nods once and he continues, “You should have let me go with them.”

“Rogers, you can’t fix every HYDRA problem that appears. God knows there’re too many, and always will be.” She glances over at him and adds gently, “Stay here; take time to think about how you want to find Bucky. Start again next year.”

“Don’t you need people for, I dunno, your strategies and missions?” He looks over at her curiously.

She hesitates before answering. “You need people you can trust, too.”

“In general, or me personally?”

“Yes,” she says simply.

“And what about you? Who do you trust? Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it’s us,” he challenges.

“I’m trying,” she says tiredly. “Why do you think I’m here? _I’m fucking trying_.”

He glances away, looks around in every direction except at her. He counts the seconds as they pass, willing his heart to stop pounding, to stop adding to the rising fear that he’s screwed this up before it’s started. He compulsively rubs the back of his head, runs his hand through the mess of hair, rubs his gritty eyes, tries not to jump out of his seat, takes a deep breath, tries to apologise.

“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed--”

“--No, you’re right,” she interrupts, her low voice sending a wave of calm through him.

“I’m sorry?”

“I keep secrets. I mean, one of the basic elements of my job at S.H.I.E.L.D. was to keep secrets. I get that it’s different now, after Project Insight – which, by the way, I disagreed with from the start – but I came to Stark Industries to continue to do what I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. to do, just from a different angle.”

She takes a deep breath, looks him in the eye, and continues, “Look, I was wrong, and you were right – I am in a different position now. But operationally, I still can’t tell you everything. It’s not a power trip; it’s just the way it is. If you ask, though, I’m willing to listen. Does that make sense?”

Maria keeps looking ahead, not letting her nerves betray her, her fingers itching to tap but lying still and flat wrapped around her mug.

“What changed?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“People,” she says uncomfortably after a moment. “People asking, prying. I hate it, but…”

“And what about non-operational things?”

She looks at him strangely. “There’s nothing interesting to know.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re an interesting person,” he says, then winces after hearing what he’s said. “I mean…”

He trails off helplessly before she decides to relent.

“Well, I didn’t hear a question, Captain,” she says eventually, with a small quirk of her mouth.

(And he takes that as permission, and the smile on his face is the most glorious she’s ever seen, and her fingers are still tightly wound around the ceramic stopping her from reaching out, and he’s _grinning_ , and the sheer force of it makes her realise that she would say it over and over and over just to see the damn smile.)

They sit in companionable silence for a while longer before his curiosity gets the better of him.

“So yesterday lunch. Why did you leave so soon?”

“I had to fly to D.C.  – one of my agents moved there after the information dump, heard something about the old tech.”

“Is that it?”

“No.”

“So…?”

“God, I was watching the _Avengers_ make and eat a fucking gingerbread house. That’s not in my job description; it’s not normal, it’s too close.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, as you’ve been pointing out,” she says with a touch of frustration. “But it’s not what I do. I send people out to do things that are morally ambiguous, or where there’s a high chance of failure. I don’t have the luxury of being able to personally get close.”

“Maria, it’s different now,” he says gently. “We’re a different group of… people. And there’s no hierarchy now. You can afford to let us in. You need to.”

She turns away, preferring to stare into the bottom of her cold coffee. She thinks about New York two years ago, thinks about the gleam of determination in his eyes after hearing about Phil, thinks about confident hands explaining a tactical procedure, thinks about the vocal resolve echoing around a damp underground hideout, remembers the eerie quiet when she got the order to press the button and sent him plummeting.

“Some of you,” she says finally.

He gives her another broad smile. _It’s a start_.

She catches him fighting back a yawn and she rolls her eyes, before flicking them to the clock.

“Get some sleep, Steve. Go for a walk, draw something. Pepper and I are going to put a movie on tonight, so feel free to join us.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grins.

“ _Don’t_ sass me, Captain.”

He shrugs easily. “I’ll be there.”

 

......

 

There’s something oddly surreal about watching a movie where a group of kids spend Christmas Eve on top of a train. Steve splits his time thinking that they should get off the damn roof because hanging from snow-capped trains is dangerous ( _been there, done that_ ), that it’s kind of surreal because the characters on screen look creepily human, and that he really shouldn’t be this freaked out because he’s Captain America and he’s faced weird aliens from other worlds.

Nevertheless, he’s contently seated next to Maria on the floor with their backs against one of Stark’s plush couches, watching _The Polar Express_ on a makeshift screen made from a white bed sheet (Pepper had smiled indulgently, and Maria had just smirked), and they’re halfway into the movie when Natasha, Clint and Bruce traipse in, slightly singed and covered with snow.

Maria looks up from her half-typed report, and offers them the bowl of popcorn. “How did it go?”

“Someone was following your agent in D.C. and tipped off local police in Mexico,” Nat says irritably as Barton lunges for the proffered popcorn. “They weren’t after the tech, but it was still a mess. I hate law enforcement.”

“Yeah. Also, your agent needs a refresher course on how to be a fucking ex-secret agent,” Barton chimes in.

“Noted,” Maria says. “Give me your full report tomorrow.”

Steve pauses the movie. “Are you okay, Nat?” He frowns, watching her press at a spot on her left shoulder.

“Fine,” she says shortly. “Bruce has the tech right now.”

“Yeah,” Banner says, holding up a black heavy-duty bag. “I’m just gonna head down to the lab, sort through it.”

“Speaking of the lab,” Clint yawns, collapsing onto the couch above Steve, “I need new trick arrows. Lost three of them. And they were my favourite ones, too.”

Steve watches as Bruce leaves with the bag in tow. “We’re watching a movie. Or, educating me,” he adds as an afterthought, pressing play.

Pepper doesn’t look up from her messages on her phone. “And here I thought I was going to have a quiet movie night with Maria, without interruption from you lot,” she says wryly.

“Sorry?” Steve says sheepishly.

She shakes her head, “It doesn’t matter. Tony’s going to walk in at any moment anyway.”

And as if on cue, Tony Stark indeed walks in, before doubling up in hysterical laughter at the sight of them.

“Oh my god, look how domestic this is. Pepper, I expected better from you.”

He dodges the projector, walks around behind them, drops his hands on Pepper’s shoulders, and kisses the top of her head. “Also, you’re in the most technologically advanced building on the East Coast, and you’re watching a movie on a _bed sheet_? I may as well burn all the R &D money.”

“Tony, be quiet,” Steve says. “It’s fun. And I’m watching.”

Stark sighs theatrically. “Fine,” he says. “But don’t blame me if you get nightmares. That sheet makes them look even creepier.”

“Stark, just shut up and sit down,” Maria says.

“Sure, _Lieutenant_ ,” he snarks, sitting down beside Pepper.

Curious, he watches the pair seated on the floor subconsciously coordinate taking popcorn from the bowl. With an evil grin, he steals the bowl from them, and when both of them whip their heads up, he chirps, “Watch the movie, kids.”

(Miraculously, Steve manages to watch the rest of the movie in silence, with only Barton’s soft snores punctuating the air.)

 

......

 

Natasha likes the quiet. She likes the dark seeping through the expansive windows, when she’s still awake and everyone’s asleep, when she can hear herself thinking. Which is why she lets herself sink further into the leather seat, relax as much as the Black Widow can, with only her sleeping partner for company.

She’s scrolling through the news on her phone, while trying hard not to scratch at the stitched-up gash on her shoulder when she hears a whisper in her left ear. Suppressing all instincts to jam her elbow into the offender, she looks up to see Tony trying his best to look covert.

“Okay, I was wrong, and I want to change my bet.”

She jerks her head to one side and motions for him to follow her, pushing a sleeping Barton onto the empty couch.

“I’m sorry, could you say that again, slowly this time?” Natasha smirks at Tony hovering in front of her.

“I. Was. Wrong.” He enunciates, rolling his eyes. “Happy? Now change it.”

“To what?”

“Steve’s not a chicken, and Hill’s not as much of a bitch as I thought. He’s totally gonna make out with her,” he says triumphantly.

“That’s sweet, and you’re a sentimental idiot,” she says. “But no, I’m not changing anything.”

“Come on, Romanoff--”

“That’s not how it works, Stark,” she shrugs, wincing slightly as it pulls on her stitches. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let them know that deep down, you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Hey, that’s not what I meant! I have a reputation to maintain!”

“It doesn’t matter. _I_ know what you’re thinking now,” she says, walking back to the couch. “Good night, Tony.”

“Okay, fine, but this isn’t the end, Romanoff. You’ve got three days,” he declares from the doorway. “I want my money back!”

“Sure, looking forward to it,” she says, her turn to roll her eyes. She waits for all traces of Tony Stark to disappear before sinking into the couch and letting the quiet sweep through again.


	5. five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a sentence in here that contains a spoiler for the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. mid-season finale; hopefully you've seen it already, and it's not a big deal...   
> on another note, this chapter turned out twice as long as i expected, but it's quite fun - hope you enjoy!

Thor strolls into the common area at five in the morning, and comes face-to-face with a Christmas tree that almost brushes the ceiling. He inspects it curiously, fingering the ornate wooden decorations and the gold and silver hanging baubles, tilts his head up to find the star made from artfully bent wires.

And one Hawkeye adding decorations to the top of the tree.

“Oh, hey Thor. How ya doin’?”

“I am well,” Thor replies. “Although I am curious as to your current activity.”

Clint shrugs from his newly created vent and hiding spot. “Decorating. Stark’s tree was getting too classy for my taste. Never thought I’d ever say that.”

Thor watches as Clint places a handful of purple arrows randomly around the top of the tree, humming under his breath. His curiosity piqued, he asks, “Do you often decorate? You have a fine artistic eye.”

Clint snorts, “Hell no. It’s a tradition, but only at Christmas. Used to be the trees at the Triskelion, or if I was on a mission, I’d break into a department store. That one’s more fun, but Fury used to get pissed at the vents and move the tree to a different spot each year, so that one was also hilarious.”

“A noble tradition indeed,” Thor agrees.

Clint pulls out a couple of purple bows from his pocket and begins to add them next to the arrows, moving onto an off-key rendition of _O Christmas Tree_. After a minute, he’s surprised to hear Thor attempting to harmonise.

“You sing?”

He nods enthusiastically. “This song is one of very few songs that I am familiar with. Jane has been trying to teach me more of your human repertoire.”

“Okay, what else do you know? We’ve gotta move you beyond Christmas songs.”

And after Clint climbs down from the ceiling (Thor still doesn’t quite know how), they move into the kitchen and start on Queen’s _Bohemian Rhapsody_ while cooking breakfast (or rather, Thor cooking, with Clint using all available kitchen utensils to form his one-man band).

“What’s going on?” Natasha asks warily, as she steps into the kitchen with Maria close behind.

“I’m teaching Thor decent music,” Clint says, twirling a spatula through his fingers before pointing it at Maria. “Don’t try to stop me; you know how long I can keep this up for.”

Maria gives him a wry look. “Oh, I’m well aware.”

“When was this?” Nat asks, confused. “Before I joined S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Yeah,” Maria confirms, nodding her thanks at Thor for the plate of bacon and eggs appearing before her. “He sang for 72 hours straight to piss off Sitwell. Though, most of us didn’t mind because Sitwell was gloating about his Madripoor operation.”

“Aww, Nat, look – Hill’s defending me!”

“I’m picking my battles,” she says wearily. “We could do a lot worse than you singing. But, if you do feel like stopping, that would be much appreciated,” she adds with a sardonic smile.

Nat takes a sip of her tea. “Is there video of this anywhere?”

“Cameras at S.H.I.E.L.D. picked it up and stored it in archives, so you may have dumped it on the internet, somewhere.”

“Fantastic,” Nat says, making a mental note to check.

Thor continues singing, starting the _Sesame Street_ theme song, oblivious to the lack of interest from Nat and Maria.

Natasha looks slyly in Maria’s direction, idly sipping her tea. “So, I hear Tony’s got something planned this afternoon. Are you in?”

“We’ll see. Christmas Eve doesn’t stop HYDRA and other lunatic scientists,” she says, angling her tablet screen away and reading an encrypted email from May. _Something about Terrigenesis and Skye? Fuck. Another for the to-do list._ “Also, if you see Rogers and Wilson, tell them to meet me in my office this morning.”

“Barnes?” Natasha asks quietly. “Also, you didn’t give a straight answer.”

“Could be,” she says, clipped. “And no, you’re right, I didn’t.”

Nat shrugs delicately, “Could be fun.”

Maria ignores her. “Just tell them I need to see them later,” she repeats, sweeping her hand towards Thor. “Sunny and cloudless days be damned, shit still happens.”

Nat eyes her with the tiniest hint of worry. “Hey Thor,” she calls out. “Change the song; it’s getting unrealistically happy in here.”

Thor obliges, and later, Bruce walks in to Thor and Clint belting out Billy Joel’s _Piano Man_ , complete with improvised flutes made from empty glass bottles.

 

......

 

“Okay, we’re starting a new tradition,” Tony announces to the room, dumping a large container at his feet. Thor looks excited, Bruce looks apprehensive, and Clint stops humming long enough to audibly groan.

“Barton, you don’t even know what it is yet. And anyway, I think you’ll like this one.”

“Yeah?” Clint challenges.

“Laser tag,” he says proudly. “Three teams, tag everyone from the other two teams to win. I’ve temporarily converted the three gym floors into a maze, so no need to worry, you gym freaks.”

Clint nods slowly, warming to the idea. “Why not paintball?”

Tony shuffles his feet. “Pepper won’t let me. Twenty-two percent of this tower’s hers.”

“Twenty-two?” Bruce looks sceptical.

“Ehh, she got a raise.”

“Wait, if it’s only lasers, why can’t we use the rest of the tower?”

“What, three floors not enough for you? I don’t need you creating random vents and railings and holes through the rest of my building.”

“Fine,” Clint says. “But I call Nat and no one else.”

“Yeah, I expected as much. We’ll wait ‘til everyone else gets back to sort teams, shouldn’t be too long,” Tony says, reaching into the container and fiddling with the guns.

“Is this a normal practice?” Thor asks, as he curiously inspects a vest.

“It is now. I’m trying out cool Christmas traditions,” Tony replies, experimentally pressing the trigger.  “Look, the lasers even do red, green, and gold.”

As Thor moves on to inspecting the guns, Maria strides in accompanied by Steve and Sam, who catches sight of the guns and vests and immediately exclaims, “Aw, no way, man! Laser tag!”

“Yup,” Tony agrees. “Where’s Nat?”

“Here,” she says, sneaking in and making Tony jump. Behind his back, she smirks at Maria and mock applauds, earning an impressive eye-roll in response.

“Geez, Romanoff, keep your ninja moves to yourself,” he says, annoyed. “Okay, everyone’s here, so I’m gonna explain this once, even though I shouldn’t have to because you’re all ex-military or whatever.”

“Hey, I object to that,” Barton interrupts.

Tony ignores him. “Three teams, tag everyone else that’s not on your side – you only get one life, so if you’re tagged, you’re gone and JARVIS will deactivate your equipment – and last one standing wins for their team. Stick to the gym floors, each team can have one for their base to start off,” he says, handing out guns and vests.

“I’m not going with anyone except Clint,” Natasha demands.

“Oh my god, you guys. If you weren’t freaky assassins, I’d call you cute,” Tony says. “Fine. My team’s red. Bruce, your team can have the green ones, which leaves Barton and Romanoff with gold.”

“A bit obvious,” Bruce mutters, glaring at Tony. “I call Steve, then.”

Steve smiles, happy with the arrangement, and opens his mouth to choose only to be cut off by Tony.

“Nope, it’s my turn, Cap,” he says. Stark looks around carefully at the remaining group, before smirking gleefully, “Hill! Come and join the dark side!”

Maria stops playing with the gun in her hand. “Are you kidding me?”

“Absolutely not. I value your strategic mind and shooting skills.”

Steve shrugs, “He has a point.”

“Also, I need you to tell me how to beat the captain. We can’t function as the Avengers if we don’t know our strengths and weaknesses,” he says in an attempt to placate the lieutenant.

“You really don’t run out of words, do you?” She sighs, resigned.

“Never. So, Thor and Sam – do you have a preference?”

“I think we work well together, Dr. Banner. It would be an honour to fight with you,” Thor says from the inside of his vest, confused with the orientation of the straps and struggling to pull it over his head.

“Okay then, Wilson, you’re with us, and we’re all set! Nat, you and Clint can take the top floor because there’s only two of you; we’ll take the middle; and Bruce, you lot can take the bottom gym. Get to know the layout of your floor, because each level’s different. Oh yeah, and wear dark clothes, obviously,” he rattles off. “JARVIS will announce go, and please, people – try not to kill each other, because I want a cool Christmas tradition that will stick.”

(Unbeknownst to them, JARVIS manages to get a picture of all the Avengers lined up with ridiculous laser tag gear. Pepper considers it an early Christmas present.)

-o-o-o-

“Hill, what’s our strategy?” Tony stage-whispers as they’re in the elevator. “Who are we taking out first?”

She rolls her eyes and waits until they step out onto their floor before turning to Tony and Sam. “We’ve got the middle floor, which means that people are going to have to pass through eventually if they want to hit someone. And that’s good, because Rogers is most likely going to go for Nat or Sam first.”

“Why?” Tony asks curiously.

“He’s worked with them recently, so he’ll think it’s fair. In terms of the gold team, Romanoff also has to head to this level to tag someone; most likely you, me, or Rogers. She’ll try and draw us out, and Barton will definitely be behind her. So, most of the action for the moment is going to be here, and we can try to set it up so they end up shooting each other.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, impressed. “I knew there was a reason I picked you. Although, much as I appreciate your cunning strategy, I feel for all those unwitting S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.”

“I was the fucking deputy director, Stark,” Maria snaps. “Stuff got done.”

“Okay, okay, I said you were good,” Tony says. “What’s next?”

She exhales. “The connecting stairwell will also be a vantage point, so if we can get one of us up there, that will help.”

Sam jumps in, “Yeah, but didn’t you give Natasha and Clint the top floor? Won’t they take control of the stairs?”

“Normally, yes, Clint would stay at the top of the stairs,” she agrees. “But because it’s multiple targets, and there’re no windows for him to see through and down, he’ll be on the ground as Nat’s backup from a distance.”

“Okay,” Sam nods. “So, what are _we_ going to do?”

“Tony, you’re going to be the bait, and Sam will have your back. I’m going to find the best view of the entrance from this floor. Once Nat, Barton, and Rogers are in, I’ll give you two knocks and you can start. Tony, try and draw Nat out so Rogers can tag her – he’s a better shot than you, so there’s more chance that he’ll get her without you having to expose your position too much.”

“Right. And where will you be for all this?”

“Outside, at the top of the stairwell. If anyone happens to use the stairs, I’ll tag them. Thor and Bruce are probably the weakest at this game, so we can deal with them later. As much as I can tell you the strategy now, it’ll change once the game starts – it’s basically down to luck and decent shooting. If you guys make it out, meet me at the top of the stairs, and we can go after Thor and Bruce and whoever’s left.” She releases a breath, “Are we clear for now?”

Sam nods again, and Tony grins, “Yes, ma’am.”

-o-o-o-

“I think I’ll stay and defend the base,” Thor declares. “I have much experience in doing so.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not quite how this game works, Thor. I think it’d be best if you--”

Bruce cuts in, “Actually, Steve, I’m not as comfortable on the offense, so I can stay back with Thor. Everyone’s probably going to think we’re the easiest to take out--”

“--Really?” Thor looks indignant.

“--So we can stay here and take care of anyone who wants to come down,” he shrugs apologetically. “Thor, you just said you wanted to defend.”

“That is most true,” Thor concedes. “I would feel privileged to defend with you, doctor.”

“Okay, well, in that case, I’m going to head up and get the others out.”

“Anyone in particular?” Bruce asks.

“I’ll start with Nat. She’s probably the biggest threat,” he says. “If I make it back, I’ll whistle to give you a signal.”

Steve is suddenly enveloped into a giant bear hug, his arms pinned to his side and his head unable to move, with Thor’s voice booming above him and echoing around the cavernous room.

“Good luck and safe travels, my friend.”

(Steve has to take a moment to catch his breath. He pretends not to notice Bruce’s silent laughter.)

-o-o-o-

“Okay, who are we gonna shoot first?” Clint turns to Nat as he attaches a scope to his gun.

“Tony, because he gloats. Or Maria, because she’s less likely to be anyone’s first target,” she says.

“Wait, why?”

She quirks the corner of her mouth. “Well, it’s either us, or _Steve’s_ team…”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” she says, shaking her head and pointing to the scope. “Did you nick that from Stark’s lab?”

“Yup. He wanted to make me night-vision goggles, can you imagine?” He shudders, “Told him to make me a fancy scope instead.”

“You don’t use scopes.”

“Yeah, but free fancy Stark tech? Gotta at least try it out,” he says, indicating the gun and the vest. “I mean, look at this game – I wish it was paintball, but at least the laser tag equipment is pretty good. Beats the crappy stuff we had for S.H.I.E.L.D. training exercises.”

“Fair enough,” she says. “Are you going to stay on the stairs?”

“Nope,” he says immediately. “I can’t see all the gyms from there. It’s better if I have your back on the ground.”

A slow smile spreads across her face. “Okay partner, let’s go win this.”

-o-o-o-

Two knocks reverberate around the quiet gym, the walls of the maze distorting its intensity and direction.

At Sam’s nod, Tony starts creeping forward, peering out from behind a foam block. He runs out, head flicking side-to-side, and darts behind another wall, straining to hear anyone’s footsteps. He counts to five in his head, before moving again, checking that Sam is still behind him. Up ahead, he spots a flash of red hair, and grins triumphantly. _Gotcha,_ he thinks. Then, _I really need to do this more often_.

Taking a deep breath, he fires a shot into the air and runs towards Nat, trying to gauge the captain’s position in the process. He pauses again, fires another shot and runs, waiting for Sam, only to hear the sound of a gun and his yelp from behind him. Quickly, he flattens his back against a wall. _Seriously? It’s only been ten minutes_. Angling his head around the wall, he comes face-to-face with Steve. He gestures in Nat’s general direction, and the captain nods in agreement, calling a temporary alliance.

On the count of three, he dashes out, and with a sigh of relief, sees Nat finally out in the open. Not wasting another second, he ducks behind a pile of gym mats and hears Steve’s shot ring out, missing the Black Widow as she smoothly rolls away. Holding his breath, Tony peeps through the tiny slit in the mats, hardly believing his luck at having Nat on the other side of the mats. In one fluid motion, he stands up with his back against the barrier, and aims, firing a single shot down at the ex-assassin.

Natasha lets loose a steady stream of curses in Russian and English; Stark swears he can hear his name mixed in there with ‘beginner’s luck’ and a very long list of detailed bodily threats.

_I win_ , he mouths at her, grinning cheerily. _Have fun, Romanoff!_

Natasha gives him the finger, the most ungraceful gesture he’s ever seen from her, and he silently sniggers. He sneaks around her, swivelling his head in all directions and making for the exit, keen not to be stuck on the same floor with both Hawkeye and Captain America.

-o-o-o-

“I spy with my little eye something beginning with ‘L’.”

They’re crouched behind two adjacent walls, whispers passing between them. Bruce fervently hopes that no one will walk in at this stage; somehow, he doesn’t think that Thor and Bruce Banner playing an idle game of ‘I Spy’ in the middle of laser tag would reflect particularly well on the Avengers’ supposedly feared reputation.

Bruce sighs, and tinkers with his gun. “Laser?”

“No.”

“Laser gun?”

“Yes, you are correct,” Thor beams through the darkness. “It’s your turn, doctor.”

He sighs again, wishing someone would just barrel through the entrance.

“Okay, I spy with my little eye something beginning with ‘B’…”

-o-o-o-

She tenses at the figure approaching her, before relaxing when she listens to the steps and realises that it’s Tony.

“Who’s left?”

“Sam got hit, probably Barton. I tagged Romanoff,” he whispers back, trying to contain his glee.

“ _You_ hit Nat?”

“Ouch, that hurts,” he mutters. “Give me some credit, won’t you?”

“Sure, whatever.” She rolls her eyes, its effect lost in the dark. “Okay, I saw Barton head down, but I couldn’t get a clear shot, so I didn’t fire. Haven’t seen Rogers, so as far as I know, no one knows we’re still up here. We need to move soon, so we’ll wait for Rogers to head down, then we’ll follow.”

They crouch in silence for a good five minutes, and Tony feels his muscles locking up, feels a need to start tapping or click his fingers or scratch, or just _move_. He barely manages to suppress a sneeze, and casting an almost apologetic glance sideways, receives a glare in return.

After another agonising minute, they spot Rogers making his way out of the middle floor.

“Finally. Took you long enough,” Maria breathes. Turning to Stark, she says, “Okay, I’ve got your back, so start moving down.”

“Oh no, you’re going first,” he says with a knowing glance. “Trust me, it’s better that way.”

At her apprehensive look, he hisses, “Look, just trust me on this one. This isn’t one of your fucked-up S.H.I.E.L.D. missions, okay? I’ve got your back.”

She glares at him again, but acquiesces, moving forward and down the stairs, pausing after each twist. They make it to the bottom floor and cautiously enter, stepping around a few tall blocks. Rounding a corner, they meet Steve head-on.

Before he has a chance to give them a polite nod, Maria smoothly aims and shoots him in the chest without hesitation.

Tony takes a moment to punch the air. “Yeah, that’s more like it,” he jubilantly whispers. “Told you it would work.”

“You thought it would work based on the fact that I’m a faster draw?” She raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Remind me to triple check whatever plans you make in the future.”

“No,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a four year old, “It worked because he would hesitate more and take longer to shoot _you_.”

“So you used me as a shield,” she says at the same time as Steve exclaims indignantly, “That’s not true!”

“Rogers gets a shield all the time,” he whispers dismissively. “I’m on a roll today!”

“Hey Tony,” a voice behind him murmurs. Tony, temporarily distracted by his success, whirls around and is greeted by a blast of green.

“Don’t get cocky,” Bruce smirks from the shadows, before promptly disappearing, not wishing to test Maria’s reflexes and aim.

She shakes her head. “See you later, gentlemen,” she drawls, inching away behind a row of exercise equipment.

She weaves in and out of the maze, periodically checking over her shoulder for any sign of Clint. She fires a shot into the middle of the gym, waiting for a response and listening for the tell-tale shuffle of feet. Closing her eyes for a second, she fires another shot, before smiling as she figures out Bruce and Thor’s positions.

She fires yet another shot, roughly halfway between the two of them, and silently congratulates herself as she hears the distinctive sound of someone being tagged.

“Thor,” she hears Bruce mutter. “I’m on your team. You just tagged me.”

“Apologies, my friend. I was confused when I saw the red laser.”

Bruce wearily shrugs. “Yeah, I think that was the point. I’m not sure who’s still in, but be careful of Maria and Natasha and Clint.”

“Of course,” Thor says solemnly. “And again, my deepest apologies.”

Bruce nods. “Just win this thing, okay?”

-o-o-o-

Despite having lost Nat to Tony Stark’s ridiculously good luck, Clint thinks that this game isn’t too bad. Playing with guns in the dark while trying to beat the rest of his super-human friends is _exactly_ what they should have been doing from the start.

So when he comes across Hill standing behind a line of punching bags, he pauses, deciding whether to tag her.

“Barton,” she says, as if she’d been waiting for him.

“You’ve been listening to footsteps, haven’t you?” He remarks, with a hint of pride. “And letting everyone shoot each other.”

“You taught well,” she shrugs. “And yes, it’s more effective with you trigger-happy people to just let you attack each other.”

He considers her for a moment. “Okay, for old times’ sake, how ‘bout we team up to get Thor?”

She eyes him suspiciously, and he continues, “I mean, we both know that either of us could shoot the other right now, but I like to play fair.”

“Okay,” she eventually agrees. “But you’re going in front. You can trust me and my skills enough to have your back.”

“Of course,” he says, inclining his head forward. “Let’s go beat a Norse god.”

He moves forward without a sound, Maria easily keeping up behind him. They settle into a rhythm forgotten years ago, complete with signals designed specifically between the two of them.

She picks up on Thor’s footsteps seconds before he does, and he grins, motioning them forward. He moves slightly to the right, allowing her a clear line of sight, giving her a go-ahead signal.

Maria takes a steadying breath, ready to fire two successive shots; one at Thor, then one at Barton, thankful that the sniper is currently in front of her. She exhales, silently releasing her breath with the first beam of red light hitting its target cleanly, then swings her gun around in a smooth arc, only to hear the buzz from her vest go off.

“Game over,” JARVIS announces, the lights gradually turning on. “Gold team wins.”

“You shot me backwards?” She asks with an air of incredulity.

“I moved right, and I’m left-handed. Easy shot,” he says, smirking. “Either that, or you’ve been out of the field for too long, my young Padawan.”

“Shut up, Barton,” she retorts.

“Hmm, no, I don’t think I will,” he says, walking out to find the others.

(And this time, Maria genuinely wishes he would stop singing. _We Are the Champions_ runs ragged circles in her head for the rest of the night.)

 

......

 

Natasha spies him from across the room, noticing his absent scribbling in the sketch book in front of him.

“You know, I don’t think anyone in here looks like a dancing monkey,” she says, peering over his shoulder. “Unless someone’s given Stark all the tequila.”

Steve shrugs, distracted. “She’s good,” he says, almost out of the blue.

Natasha stays quiet, letting him continue, “She figured all of us out. Knew what each of us would do.”

“That’s what she does,” she says, after a pause. “Her operations at S.H.I.E.L.D. always had the highest success rates.”

Steve nods, unsurprised. “But I can’t figure _her_ out.”

Nat looks at him carefully, “Maybe you don’t have to. She has her reasons for doing things, but she still trusts you.”

It’s Steve’s turn to stay silent, pencil still scratching as he looks towards the woman in question chatting with Dr. Foster.

“She gave you her latest intel on Barnes today,” she prods further. “You need your friend back, someone you can trust. She understands that.”

“That’s what she said as well,” he says.

“See? She can be unpredictable, but think about this – you asked her to stay for Christmas, and we’ve seen more of her in the past week, than in the last month. What does that tell you?”

 Steve mulls it over before cracking a grin. “Are you setting me up again, Natasha?”

“Only because you need it,” she quips.

“Speaking of which, you do realise you set me up with Peggy’s great-niece last time, right?”

Nat shrugs, unrepentant. “She’s nice.”

“Yeah, but it was kinda weird,” he says, shaking his head slowly.

She lets them sit in a comfortable silence, watching Stark and Barton and Thor attempt to out-sing each other. She spots the easy smile that makes its way across the captain’s face, and takes that as her cue to leave.

“Natasha,” he says, stopping her. She turns around and quirks a brow at him.

“Thanks,” he adds simply.

She nods, “Anytime, Rogers.”


	6. six.

“Stark, you and your flying robots are fucking crazy,” Clint growls from his stool at the kitchen island.

“I knew you’d like them, Hawkguy,” Tony beams winningly at him.

Clint ignores him. “I mean, who the hell would program them to wake us up at six-thirty on Christmas morning with _Mariah Carey_ of all people?”

“He’s right,” Natasha jumps in, clutching her coffee as if her life depends on it. “The music is atrocious and it’s far too early.”

Tony makes a face. “They delivered presents to your door. What more could you want?”

Clint keeps scowling at him, long after everyone else trickles into the kitchen, with Elvis and Michael closely behind, each brandishing a foot-long candy cane like a weapon.

“Tony,” Thor says exuberantly, causing Clint to start scowling in the god’s direction. “I quite enjoyed your robots and their surprise this morning.”

“Not a problem, big guy,” Tony says, shooting a smug smile in the archer’s direction. “Glad _someone_ appreciates them.”

“And I must say,” Thor continues, “thank you all for your kind and generous gifts.”

Bruce frowns, “Uh, Thor, I think it was only Steve and Tony who got us stuff.”

“Nah, it was just me and Steve that gave everyone everything. Some of you got extra stuff from other people. None of my concern. Except--” Tony breaks off and swivels to point at Maria, “--you. We need to have a chat.”

“Later,” she says curtly, anticipating his question and dismissing him.

“Hey Tony, why the phones?” Steve asks curiously, slowly thumbing through the device he’d received when it was thrown at him from a baby-sized robot.

“Thought all of you would like the latest Stark phones, each customised, of course. I can’t give you fancy sketches, so here’s the next best thing,” he shrugs. “Cap, I hid an instruction manual in yours, so you’ll have to find it. Barton, yours even has _Angry Birds_ on it, though that game is so old I’m not sure anyone else still plays it.”

“Hey, flinging birds at pigs will never get old,” he defends as Steve looks mildly offended.

“Of course you would say that.”

“Just be glad he’s not flinging birds at you, Stark,” Maria says under her breath as she organises the apps on her shiny new phone, Pepper suddenly looking worried at the half-asleep and mutinous ex-assassin gulping coffee in the kitchen.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s had other things _flung_ at him,” Natasha says slyly, reaching over to high-five Maria, rather uncharacteristically.

Tony looks indignant. “Really? After all I do for you, after letting you stay in my tower, that’s the best you can come up with?”

Natasha shrugs, unapologetic. “You make it too easy sometimes, Stark.”

Tony glares at her back before raising his voice again. “Okay everyone, remember – party tonight, dress nicely or I’ll sic Elvis and Michael on you in your sleep. Romanoff, they’re probably going to come for you anyway.”

 

......

 

“Flaming shots!”

Barton’s cry of excitement resonates around the brightly-lit common room, joining in with the music steadily pumping through the state-of-the-art sound system. They’re all seated around the normally pristine coffee tables, now currently laden with empty beer bottles and general Christmas and party detritus. Thor hands Natasha a bottle of the Asgardian equivalent to vodka, and everyone watches as she expertly mixes a line of flaming cocktails.

“Okay, gentlemen, who’s first?”

Tony slaps Bruce’s back, propelling him forward. “Uh, this probably isn’t a good idea,” Bruce hesitates. At Stark and Barton’s continued cheering, he reluctantly takes the glass, extinguishes the blue flame and tosses it back.

An even louder cheer goes up, and Tony resumes pounding the scientist’s back, this time in congratulations. At Natasha’s “Next!”, Jane steps forward to loud encouragement from Thor and Tony, proceeding to slam the drink back without extinguishing the flame. Pepper looks over at Rhodey, who responds by shrugging resignedly.

“It’s okay, Natasha’s done this too many times to count,” Maria says wryly to Pepper. “No one’s going to get burnt and die, though I can’t say the same for the furniture.”

“I made Tony line the couch with industrial-grade non-flammable material, so hopefully that works.”

“And the windows?” Maria dares to ask, smirking with glee bordering on unholy.

“Should be as well, but who knows what the hell these guys will get up to,” she sighs, eyeing the younger woman carefully. “Look, I really shouldn’t be encouraging my employees to root for property destruction, but given how this is Tony Stark we’re talking about…”

Maria’s eyes soften, feeling a wave of gratitude towards the redhead for the implicit acceptance. “Thanks.”

“Hey, Hill!” Tony bellows, interrupting the moment. “One left!”

She quirks the corner of her mouth disbelievingly. “Seriously?”

“Well, I was planning to leave it for Fury, when he shows up…”

“We’ve been over this,” Maria says impatiently. “Fury’s dead.”

“Then I guess it’s all yours,” Tony says, smug. “Even Cap’s done one.”

She turns to look at Steve, receiving an enthusiastic nod in return. Accepting her turn, she takes the glass in front of Tony, and in one smooth motion, slams back the lit drink without breaking eye contact with him.

“Happy?”

“You have no idea,” Tony grins at her proudly while gesturing at everyone for the next round. “No idea.”

 

......

 

Steve looks around the room, looking for a reprieve in the festivities and exhausted at the sheer amount of energy that Stark seems to have stored up just for these occasions. He spots Tony, Natasha, and Clint playing the drinking version of ‘Pin the tail on the donkey’ with one of Natasha’s knives and a picture of Jasper Sitwell.

“You survived,” he says, walking up from behind her.

“I suppose I did,” she laughs humourlessly. “Thought I would have killed at least one of you twice over before tonight.”

“We’re not that bad,” he reminds her.

“No. No, you’re not,” Maria sighs. “You’re all insane, but you have your moments.”

“Well, if you’re looking for sanity, I think you might be in the wrong business.”

She gives him a baleful glare. “And don’t I know it,” she mutters sarcastically.

“But then again, you’re awfully good at this business. Don’t know why you’d ever want to leave.”

“Not sure if that’s a compliment, Rogers,” she says, a small smile playing at the edge of her mouth. “I don’t exactly operate in the black and white.”

“And I don’t think the world has spun that way for a while,” he says softly. “We need people like you. I’m not saying that I’ll always agree with your decisions, but after yesterday… Well, you seem to be able to see more than the rest of us, and I trust you.”

She regards him carefully, drink heavy in her hand. “You’ve changed your mind.”

“I had to.”

“No, you didn’t _have_ to. _Why_ did you change your mind?”

He looks at her, seeing her confused and waiting expectantly. Frustrated at her obliviousness, he explodes, “Because you care! Because you care that we’re more than assets, even if when you don’t have to, even when you probably shouldn’t – your words, not mine.”

“See, here’s the problem,” she says, just so goddamn _tired_. “My first priority is to keep the world safe from all the fucked-up shit that could possibly happen, which definitely involves using your team. And I can’t do that if I can’t keep whatever the hell _this_ is,” she gestures around the room, “separate.”

“Okay, one – yes, you can. I’ve seen your compartmentalising skills, and they’re almost as good as Fury’s,” he holds up a finger, daring her to interrupt. “And more importantly, two – that’s what I’ve been saying; you don’t have to. _We_ ,” and it’s his turn to sweep his arm around the room, “could work together much better if you didn’t separate us as either your friends or your assets. I mean, you’re friends with Nat and Clint, and you still manage to send them out on missions, successfully too. It’s not you versus us anymore.”

“And that’s Nat and Clint,” she says flatly. “Two outliers. I can’t guarantee that it’ll be the same for you.”

“They’re not that different,” he counters. “And I’m willing to take that chance.”

Maria stares at him, her face a blank canvas, not moving an inch. She filters out all the sounds in the background, save for the impatient drumming of her heart. “You’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

She considers him for a little bit longer, trying not to read into the excitement and hope in his eyes. “You do know that this could go both ways, right? It could be better, but I could hurt you – including the rest of you – a lot more as well,” she warns.

“Worth it,” he promises.

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can,” he insists.

(And it’s so reminiscent of his speech on the last day of S.H.I.E.L.D. – the utmost _belief_ ; of what is right and good and holds a future to be proud of – that she can’t turn away, can’t ignore it amidst the deeply cynical and lonely, lonely world that she operates in.)

“You’re a masochist,” she says bluntly, despite the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, threatening to spill.

“No, I don’t think that’s true,” he says, smiling at her. “Trust me, I would know.”

She rolls her eyes at him, a little overwhelmed at the elation directed towards her. “So, what’s next?”

He glances around the room, and she’s surprised to see his smile slowly slip away as he shuffles uneasily. “Well, actually, there’s… you have to know I didn’t plan this or anything, but…”

“Spit it out, Steve,” she says, amused at his awkwardness.

“Right. Okay, well, mistletoe,” he says, pointing up.

“Of course.” She closes her eyes briefly and exhales, “Have you been talking to Nat recently?”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

He looks at her contritely, ever the perfect gentleman. “Look, you don’t have to if you feel uncomfortable…”

She arches a brow at him and he almost winces. “Oh, fuck it,” she mutters, decision made, pulling him forward with one hand clenched in his shirt. She rises slightly to meet his mouth, and he wraps one arm around her waist to pull her closer, the other hand plucking her drink out and placing it on the table behind him before reaching up to cradle the back of her head. Closing her eyes, she sighs into the kiss, looping her free arm around his neck to tangle her fingers in his hair…

A tiny gasp behind her causes her to pull away, and she sighs again, dropping her head forward to rest on his shoulder.

“Nat’s behind me, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” he confirms sheepishly.

“And…?”

“And Pepper.”

“Fuck,” she says, putting two and two together, before raising her head and locking her eyes with his. “Look, I am nowhere near drunk enough to blame this on the alcohol. Also, I have no idea what Nat’s doing, but I need you to know that I have nothing to do with it, okay?”

“Maria,” he says gently. “I know that this isn’t a game for you. Did you think I wasn’t listening for the last ten minutes?”

“Right,” she says, the momentary panic subsiding. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” he says, smile still curving. “But, you should probably go speak to them before they get any other ideas.”

“I should just leave them to go screw themselves.” She huffs in annoyance and glances at the ostentatious clock on the far wall. “It’s two in the morning after Christmas; I shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Well, on the bright side, Tony’s trying to wake Clint up,” he says, pointing to the billionaire frantically prodding at the passed-out sniper.

“Yeah,” she half-grins. “Okay, how about this? We go yell at Nat and Pepper, then head to my apartment for a movie. There’s no way I’m getting to sleep with this in the background,” she adds, indicating Thor, Jane, and Bruce who seem to have started up karaoke.

She disentangles herself from him, and strides over to their two observers – Pepper grinning widely, and Nat simply smirking.

“Okay, let’s make two things clear,” she says tersely. “Firstly, whatever this is, it’s none of your goddamn business. Secondly, because I know that the two of you are going to ignore the first point, we’re going to deal with this tomorrow, or rather, at a more humane hour later this morning. I’m going to trust _you_ ,” she glares at Pepper, “to keep this from Stark for the moment, okay?”

“Of course,” Pepper nods, more seriously.

“And you,” Maria says, turning to Nat. “I’m probably going to send you on an operation somewhere in the middle of Australia for meddling in this.”

Nat raises her eyebrows. “We’ll see.”

Maria shakes her head, giving up. “Tomorrow,” she repeats, before leaving for the door.

Natasha watches as the captain hurries to catch up, bending down and murmuring something into the lieutenant’s ear. Watches as Maria smiles the first real, genuine smile since S.H.I.E.L.D. fell.

(Somehow, Nat doesn’t mind as much that she’s just lost a hundred dollars.)


	7. seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa, this is way past christmas, so many apologies! it is the last chapter, though; thanks to all who've read and followed along! it's been a fun ride, and i'm sure i'll be back in this corner sometime soon.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the passing of another successful Christmas, as well as the initiation of one previously thought to be controlled by a faceless government entity, into our awesome superhero-midst,” Tony grandly announces to the relatively quiet common room, standing up and waving his arms.

“Cut the dramatics, Stark,” Natasha says, bored, taking out her knives and sharpening them. Maria simply rolls her eyes, not bothering to correct him on his assumption of said faceless government entity.

“Hang on, why is Nat here?” Steve asks.

Tony gives him an almost-pitying look. “Oh Cap, all will be revealed, so don’t worry your pretty head. Okay, time to make some money, then,” he says, rubbing his hands gleefully. “Actually, before we begin, how _did_ you find out about the bets between me and Hill?”

“Ex-Russian spy. How could I not?” She raises an eyebrow. “Also, you need to be more discreet if you’re trying to improve the integrity of your windows. Barton and I see everything.”

“Wait,” Steve interjects, “does this mean Tony cheated?”

“Absolutely not,” Tony says quickly. “You didn’t say I _couldn’t_ improve my windows. Just that they couldn’t break. And if you check the security footage from last night, _nothing_ went anywhere near the windows.”

“Okay, I’ll give that one to you,” Pepper says as Maria hands over a hundred dollars. “Now, I believe Clint passed out first last night, so…”

Tony scowls and hands the money back over. “How the hell is his alcohol tolerance so low? He drinks with _you_ , Romanoff.”

Natasha looks at him, annoyed and defensive on her partner’s behalf. “It’s not that low. I’m Russian; Thor and Jane are used to the Asgardian stuff; Pepper, Hill, and Rhodes aren’t going to drink until they pass out; Banner and Rogers can’t get drunk; which leaves you and Clint, and you’re an alcoholic compared to him. What the hell did you think was going to happen?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Tony grumbles, and Steve has to suppress a small smile. “Right, Hill. My security system tells me that you got a _mysterious_ present for Christmas – a Cryptex, according to JARVIS. Care to share?”

Maria stares back calmly. “No.”

“How very _Da Vinci Code_. I mean, this could be a huge breach of security,” he continues innocently. “So I need to know who it came from, where it’s been, what’s inside… You get the picture.”

“It doesn’t concern you, Stark.”

“From a certain _director_ , maybe?”

“If you want to believe that,” Maria smirks. _Just not the one you think_. “Fury didn’t turn up – because he’s _dead_ – so…” She gestures imperiously for the money.

He relents, slaps it into her open palm, but keeps glaring at her. “Party was fun though, right?”

Maria quirks a smile, understanding his determination to win _something_. “I’ve been to worse.”

“And she admits it!” Tony nods in satisfaction, turning to Nat, “Okay, your turn, Romanoff.”

Nat eyes the lieutenant and the captain. “We made a bet on the two of you, and Pepper won,” she says, cutting to the chase.

“What was the bet?” Steve asks with growing comprehension.

“Romanoff had a hundred that you’d kiss Hill, Pepper went with the reverse, and I thought the two of you would be too chicken and/or emotionally unavailable,” Tony interrupts before wincing at Nat’s sharp blow to the back of his head. “What? I wanted to change it but _she_ wouldn’t let me.”

“You wanted to change it?” Pepper lets a smidge of pride colour her grin.

He rubs the back of his head. “And Nat called me a sentimental idiot. I want it on the record that this is _not_ true.”

Steve casts a worried look over at Maria, who’s staring emotionlessly at the trio in front of them. To be fair, he’s not quite sure how he feels about the meddling; he can’t deny that it’s nice to have their support (albeit in a clearly twisted fashion), but given their brush with Insight and privacy issues in general, well, he’s happy to live in a bubble for the time being. And Maria, well…

“I want forty percent of the winnings,” Maria says finally.

“Ten percent,” Tony cuts in, arguing for the sake of arguing.

She fixes him with one of her glares – specifically, the one used to cow arrogant Level 5s into completing paperwork and assignments, the one used on Fury when he told her about T.A.H.I.T.I., the one used when Barton created a vent in her office and stole her portable espresso machine – and replies coolly, “Forty. Or I’ll dismantle Elvis and Michael. With a hammer.”

“You’ll what?”

“You heard me. I’ll accept that the three of you were trying some sort of altruistic matchmaking thing, but I don’t appreciate the sheer lack of boundaries. I’m not sure I expected better from Stark or from _you_ ,” she grimaces at Natasha, “but Pepper, really?”

And Pepper looks over at the younger woman, and despite the impressive mask, she notices a tiny crack of hurt in her eyes. A wave of guilt crashes through her, and her smile dims a fraction.

“Wasn’t my intention to intrude,” she assures her. “But we’re not against you. We’re behind you on this one, which was the point all along. You’re always going to have a job to do, and you’re always going to need people in your corner, people you can rely on. We can do that,” she shrugs simply.

Maria looks intently at all of them in turn – sees Stark’s blatant curiosity, Natasha’s amusement hidden behind concern, Pepper’s sharp honesty, Steve’s glimmer of hope and understanding – tries for once not to think too hard, and mutters under her breath, “This is fucking twisted.”

“But appreciated?” Tony’s hopeful voice chimes in.

“Maybe.” The corner of her mouth turns up slightly. “But still mostly warped.”

Beside her, Steve releases a breath, and she ignores him for the moment, trying to force down the relief at his lack of protest and resentment. “Okay, now you’ve had your fun, I want the three of you out for the next ten minutes,” she commands, very much enforcing her reputation. “And Stark – JARVIS better not be recording.”

“Ten minutes doesn’t seem long,” Tony smirks knowingly. “And also, this is _my_ building which I so generously invited you into. You can’t order me and my AI around.”

She glares caustically at him again, ignoring his jibe. “ _Don’t_ try me. Just give us ten minutes, and then you can do whatever the hell you want.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue, cut off as Pepper nudges him towards the door, giving Maria and Steve a warm smile. She nods back in gratitude before turning to Nat.

“You did it, then,” Maria says.

Nat nods. “Yeah. Only took me six years,” she says wryly.

“Wait, has she been trying to set you up too?” Steve asks, bewildered.

“Not quite,” Nat says. “Trust exercise. Right, Hill?”

“The both of us,” Maria admits with a smile, remembering a conversation years past. “Thanks,” she adds, quieter.

“You too,” Nat replies with a grin, strolling out, leaving the glass doors to shut with a small click.

She contemplates the vacated space before turning her attention back to the captain seated somewhat nervously on the couch.

He begins, hesitant. “So…”

“You got more words there, Rogers?” She lifts an eyebrow, silently laughing.

“Not really, no,” he shrugs. “I’m happy.”

The two words – the simplicity of the statement – make her pause. And she feels her heart swell, feels the urge to tap fingers in excitement, feels the exhilaration sweep through, but…

“Tony knows, so he’s probably going to send a memo around, and everyone’ll know by tomorrow.”

He shrugs again. “We went over this last night. It’s not a bad thing,” he reminds her gently, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Besides, we can think of something together and get back at them.”

She sits back and lets her head fall against his shoulder. “Give it a few days, though. Stark’s probably still gloating right now.”

“How about the new year?”

“Sure. New year,” she promises with a smile.


End file.
